


the thunder rolls

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, The Darkness - Freeform, Visions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:04:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4989535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the darkness is coming...and it leaves no survivors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the thunder rolls

Sam and Dean watched from the interior of the impala as the darkness rolled towards them, it's thick texture rich with midnight black so vacant of light that it was more like all matter in the area had been erased. horror from what they had unleashed rounded their eyes and had them clutching each others arms, clinging to one another like they always had. as the supernatural smoke tumbled forward like the enraged clouds of a thunder storm, Sam and Dean turned to each other. Dean was wearing an expression so refreshingly...Dean. There was no hatred, nor bitterness, or malice in his gaze; only concern and fear and courage. Sam was eased by the realization that for the first time in far too long, it was 100% Dean staring back at him...but the feeling didnt last long. Dean's lips parted as if about to speak, but at that moment black wisps leaked into the car, filling it up like an empty glass, and as the darkness brushed Sam's skin, it brought a stinging pain like he had been burnt. Panic surged through him and his heart beat erratically to the sound of Dean's abrupt, guttural screams. Sam tried calling out to him; desperate for some kind of reassurance, but beneath the budding hysteria and mild disbelief, he knew this smoke--this merciless, lethal darkness--would kill both of them. His jaw locked--frozen in a paused frame of gaping terror-and his attempt to push out a last word-name-syllable was denied by the paralysis the black smoke brought with it. his hands shot up to protect his already-disintegrating face and he could only watch in the dirty rearview mirror with horrir and disgust and shock as his flesh was eaten away by black nothingness. The pain skyrocketed and the connection between his brain and his mouth must have defeated the paralysis because he was screaming, sobbing, howling animalistic noises just for the sake of knowing he was still alive and then-

and then his vision faded, melted, until he was seeing something completely different. his hands were still shaking in front of his eyes, but they were lit by a dim, yellowish light and his skin was perfectly intact; no burning holes with meat and bone and bubbling, pouring blood peeking through. in between his splayed fingers he could see a room with green, peeling wallpaper and a crappy painting hanging from the wall that looked like it was meant to be a mutilated flower that had been pelted with mud and acid. The scraggly carpet bit into his bare feet and his ass was numb, but he didnt move from the corner of the room that he was wedged into. His ragged breaths and racing heart were the only noises in the room--until the squelching of soaked, heavy boots against the thin carpet approached him and a figure knelt down in front of him; blocking his view of the eroding flower painting. "Sammy? you okay?" the figure asked with a familiar, youthful voice. Sam hesitantly dropped his hands away from his face to reveal a worried looking Dean several feet away; holding in one hand, a glass of water and in the other, a bottle of aspirin. his brow was drawn and the corners of his lips turned down in a tense half-frown as his green eyes practically glowered with a fiery, instinctual protectiveness. This Dean was at least eight years too young with his lack of trauma-deepened wrinkles and beaten down, tired demeanor. This Dean hadn't yet lost the passion for hunting-women-living that defined his personality. "what is it? what'd you see?" he interrogated with a serious expression and a grave tone. Sam knew that look; that pinced, uncomfortable expression with an obvious hint of unwavering concern, but he couldn't quite remember what it indicated. "'see?'" He relayed back; his own voice quiet and too young sounding. Dean pursed his lips and his face tightened ever so slightly at the confused response. "yeah. your vision, psychic wonder. who kicked the bucket this time?" he asked with forced humor in an attempt to lighten the mood. Then Sam felt it; the iconic combination of sensations that he had had the misfortune of experiencing on multiple occasions; the blurred vision, the cool sweat sticking to his skin and especially saturating his forehead, the pounding headache with a pulsing epicenter hammering away at the back of his skull....as the pieces of the puzzle clicked together, Sam was overcome with lightheadedness. "holy shit." he breathed out disbelievingly.


End file.
